


A Ghostly Christmas

by sostrata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Community: rs_small_gifts, Everybody Lives, Godfather Sirius Black, M/M, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Post-Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sostrata/pseuds/sostrata
Summary: Remus, Sirius, and Harry spend their first Christmas together after Voldemort's final defeat. Ghostiness ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brighty18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brighty18/gifts).



> Written for the lj community rs_small_gifts in 2016, for brighty18. I added a couple of lines to the end when posting it here. The prompt was Christmas ghost story/mystery. I was inspired by the British tradition of the Christmas ghost story, and followed the tropes. Betaed by shaggydogstail.
> 
> The backstory is that Voldemort was defeated at the end of Harry's 5th year. This is the first Christmas after that. It begins after Sirius has picked up Harry for the holidays. 
> 
> An important date in this, 19 Dec 1843, was the date on which _A Christmas Carol_ was published.
> 
> I encourage criticism. You see something you don't like, go ahead and tell me! Also, I take requests. If you want a prequel/sequel to this, feel free to ask!

_December 1996, Bleaklow moor_

 

A small house stood solitary amid the moorland grasses. On the outside, it looked thoroughly abandoned. Its white paint was peeling in a most pitiable fashion. Its sagging roof would have required a top-notch contractor. If one were to peer through the broken windows, one would see bare walls and floorboards that had long ago surrendered to the elements and wildlife. It was the sort of house that normally would not get a second glance.

But this was a wizard house. Long ago, a charm had been cast to hide the house's true nature from outsiders. Therefore, it was far bigger than it looked. Its upstairs held as many bedrooms as one might need, and the downstairs had a well-stocked kitchen and a large living room. There was a door in the living room that led to the basement. 

Far from being abandoned, it was full of the warmth and laughter brought to it by the family that lived there.

At the moment that our story opens, one of the house's inhabitants was sitting by the fireplace reading. From time to time, he would glance at the clock. 

When Harry and Sirius's hands started approaching "Home", Remus went outside and scanned the sky. Grey clouds were massing above the harsh and snowy moorland. He shoved his hands into his coat sleeves and stamped his feet. Soon, Harry would be home for the Christmas holiday.

Just on the edge of vision, against the cover of clouds, there appeared a black speck. The speck grew bigger and bigger, and a rumbling sound grew louder and louder, and then the motorbike was landing. 

Harry and Sirius clambered off, their black hair wild. Harry was clutching Hedwig's cage.

"Hello, Remus!" Sirius greeted him with a dazzling smile.

Remus smiled back warmly. "Sirius. Welcome home, Harry."

"Thanks!" Harry grinned. Hedwig hooted a greeting.

Sirius shouldered Harry's bag and ushered him into the house. "Wait till you see what we've done!"

"Brace yourself," Remus advised Harry as they went in.

Inside, it was full of Christmas. Sirius had spent the past weeks throwing both himself and the house into the festivities. The doorways were lined with holly and ivy. Magic snow crunched underfoot. Everlasting icicles hung from the ceiling. To Remus, the last few days had been rather like living in an ice cave.

A large tree took up much of the living room. A glowing angel sat on top, and colourful ornaments dangled from the branches. Sirius had been doing some charms experimentation as he tentatively got back into his old magical creativity. One ornament had falling snowflakes, one a moving Hogwarts Express, and one was of a Father Christmas who bellowed, "Ho ho ho!" when you squeezed it. Sirius had badly startled Remus one day when he had innocently asked him to hold it. Underneath the boughs nestled fat packages wrapped in bright red and green. Their big gold bows would snap, "Hands off!" if anyone tried to unwrap them. 

By the fireplace hung four stockings. Harry's had a moving picture of him on his broom, perpetually racing after the Snitch. Remus's depicted a snarling werewolf ripping into a human ("Very amusing, Sirius." "I thought so."). Sirius's stocking was a tasteful midnight blue with a single glistening star. Even Hedwig had one, a small white stocking with a simple yarn outline of her preening. 

Harry was suitably impressed, and he and Sirius went upstairs to see the rest. Remus had banned decorations from their own room, but Harry's was in a state similar to that of the living room. 

Remus went into the kitchen to start the kettle. It had been transfigured into a red and green-bedecked elf that poured hot water out of its long nose. Remus closed his eyes to give himself strength. 

After the tour, they sat down on the couches with tea and hot cocoa to catch up. The couches had plush red throws that covered the arms and the seats. On the slope down from the arms, Sirius had laid magic snow and tiny trees. It was at that point in the Christmas preparations that Remus had suggested he get out more.

Harry was studying the scene intently. "Are those real trees?"

"Oh, yes," said Remus, tiredly.

"So!" said Sirius eagerly. "Tell us what you've been up to."

Harry launched into a detailed account of his Hogwarts exploits, and Sirius listened attentively. The pair acted as though they had forgotten all about their weekly talks through the two-way mirrors. Remus smiled fondly at them. His family. 

Despite Remus's outward and properly Marauder-like scepticism, he did not at all mind Sirius's forceful embrace of Christmas. It was a sort of exorcism from the bleakness of Christmases past, and they all could use that.

~~~  
The next morning, Sirius prepared a vast breakfast so that Harry wouldn't miss the massive meals of Hogwarts. The heaping platters of sausages and eggs were much appreciated, as were the stacks of bacon and toast. However, Sirius had got rather carried away with charms. Harry hardly batted an eye at the currants dancing in his porridge, but the singing eggnog earned disgruntled looks. There was only so much creativity that one could take with one's breakfast.

Due to Sirius's notoriety, the traditional shopping at Diagon Alley was inadvisable. As they were finishing their breakfast, Sirius asked Harry if he would like to explore the nearby ghost village.

"We've found out that they have a large celebration at Christmas," he explained. "The village was destroyed in a potion's accident in 1843, on the 19th of December- today, actually. Some of the villagers were disappointed at the thought of missing Christmas, so they stayed on as ghosts. We don't have to go if you don't want to..."

"Sounds great!" said Harry with a smile. 

Their house and the nearby ghostly village were in one of the remotest parts of the moor, safe from prying Muggles. Wizards had lived there for well over a thousand years. However, ever since that fateful day of 1843, only their ghosts remained. They dwelt among the ruined buildings, pearly white figures flitting to and fro.

Harry and Remus travelled the two miles by broom, with Sirius joyously running in his dog form below them. On their arrival, he stayed as a dog and followed Remus and Harry as they walked down the main street, his long tail wagging and his nose sniffing busily.

The ruins looked as though a bomb had gone off. The site of the explosion had been the apothecary, at the end of the main street. It and the surrounding buildings had been flattened. The further one got up the street, the less damage there was. The Mayor's house at the top of the street still bore its frame, and even parts of walls. Whatever the state of the structures, however, all the living had perished. 

There was a lot to see and smell. A tall Christmas tree stood outside the Mayor's grand house, generously festooned with brilliantly glowing ornaments. Fairy lights glistened on the tree, though some of the fairies had abandoned their post to swoop gleefully through the transparent passersby. Thick ribbons, so shockingly red that they almost wounded the eye, were draped all the way down the street around almost any post that could be found. Remus explained that the colours were so bright in an attempt to penetrate the grey world of the ghosts. Holly and ivy curled all around the buildings, having overgrown in the past century and a half.

Carol singers were strolling up and down the street, eerie voices raised in unearthly song, telling of silent nights and bleak midwinters. Ghostly children ran past in a game of tag, never tiring, their laughing voices shrill. Transparent vendors loudly hawked their pungent wares- mouldy chestnuts, stale plum pudding, vinegary wine, rotten apples, sour hot cocoa, and candies so sweet that one lick could send a living person to the dentist. Ghosts in the dress of ages past clustered hopefully around the stalls, passing their mouths through the food. The smells wafted around the street and tickled the human and canine noses unpleasantly.

They were almost halfway down the street when they were accosted by the Mayor, a loquacious ghost who reminded Harry disturbingly of Gilderoy Lockhart. Mounds of lace poured out of his dress robes. 

"Harry Potter! So good of you to come!  _Such_  an honour, such an honour!" He gave the ghostly version of a vigorous handshake, leaving Harry's hand feeling frigid despite his thick gloves. Harry shoved his hand under his armpit.

Not noticing, the Mayor gestured grandly at the street. "Welcome to our humble celebrations! We so enjoy Christmas- it's all we live for! What do you think?"

"Very nice," said Harry politely.

"Wonderful! This is our anniversary, you know, the day on which we became ghosts to celebrate the season forever. I think we've done alright by ourselves this year! But this is nothing," he rattled on before Harry could ask any questions. "The  _real_  celebration is Christmas Day. And Christmas Eve isn't bad, either. There will be readings, games, and a great feast! You will come, won't you? Excellent! Excellent! Are you enjoying yourself? You must hear our choir! And try our refreshments! We have some special tidbits this year! Oh dear, what is the matter, Master Potter- are you ill?"

Harry, who had made a face at remembering the food at Sir Nicholas's Deathday party, shook his head quickly. "Oh, no," he lied. "I can't wait!"

"Excellent! Now, where is our choir?"

A group of ghosts stepped forward, beaming. They burst into song:

"Gather round and have some cheer  
We're sorry we've no butterbeer  
But we are ghosts who've come to say  
Have a haaaaappy Christmas Day!"

Two members of the choir wailed so loudly that Harry jumped. Sirius howled mournfully. Even Remus cocked his head as though trying to shake out the sound. 

"You've been singing this for a hundred years?" said Harry doubtfully. Sirius's tongue lolled in a canine laugh.

"Oh, no, my gracious!" chuckled the Mayor. "We have a contest every year to pick the official Christmas song. Would you like to hear the runners-up?"

"No!" said Harry quickly.

"Very well." The Mayor looked disappointed, but Harry couldn't feel bad. "Ah well. Come! You must try the food!"

He shooed them over to a battered stall where the ghost of a grandmotherly witch was selling meat pies. Harry's stomach turned when he saw the maggots crawling in them. Sirius whined.

"Have a pie," the witch offered Harry kindly. "You look like you could use some fattening up."

Remus and Sirius watched in amusement as Harry, trying to be polite, gingerly took a pie. He was obviously having an inner battle while bringing it to his mouth.

"Very good," he mumbled as he took a bite, his mouth twisting. "Couldn't be better."

" _So_  glad!" beamed the witch. "We'll have you fattened up in no time."

"Can't wait." Harry forced himself to swallow.

"It warms my heart to see such a nice young person enjoying good food! Especially after the fright my nerves have had lately." At their questioning looks, she said, "The horrible howling on the moor. It's just awful!" 

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance. Harry grinned. "Every full moon?"

"Oh, no," said the witch. "Just the other night. I couldn't have been more scared!"

"There are legends of black dogs on the moor," said Remus. "And there have been more sightings lately, for some reason."

"That must be very frightening," said Harry seriously.

"It is, my dear, it is," sighed the witch. "And then of course there's poor Mr Pompey." 

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Oh, you don't know? Why, Paracelsus Pompey! The man who destroyed our town. It was an accident, of course. He was our apothecary, and he blew himself up one day and took the town with him! I suppose he forgot to put up protective charms and then mixed the wrong things together. And we don't mind. It's quite fun, really. We are all here by choice. But the poor man never forgave himself. Locked himself up in his house and wouldn't come out. And that's when it started. Because he was dead, living people moved into his house. Oh, the trouble he gave them! Three people he chased out, an astronomer, a scholar, and one fellow I never could work out what he was. And then there was that poor family!

"And you know, it just occurred to me. I do hope no one else is living there- I heard a rumour that three young men had moved in- today is our Deathday. We don't really celebrate it ourselves, because of the holiday, but this is the day when Mr Pompey comes out from hiding and does something to all those people."

The witch shuddered to herself. Her listeners had been quiet through all of this, but Remus asked sharply, "Where is this house, exactly?"

"Why, I believe it's two miles away, not far. It's been charmed to look like a small, run down house. Mr Pompey never did like visitors. I do hope no one is there. That house is evil."

Harry, Remus, and Sirius all looked at each other for a moment. Harry thanked the witch for the pie, then they continued down the street.

"Do you suppose there's a danger?" asked Harry, trying not to look nervous. Sirius padded beside him softly, lending quiet comfort.

Remus looked thoughtful as he stepped over some fallen ivy. "We did clear out the house when we moved in, and we haven't seen a sign of anyone there since." He smiled encouragingly. "It could be just part of the superstition about the moor. The Muggles have many stories about it. Some claim to have seen the ghosts of Roman soldiers, forever wandering the moor as they try to find their lost fort. There have been stories of strange lights and unusual flying craft for centuries. A valley nearby is even called 'The Haunted Valley.' The Muggle town has quite a few ghost stories as well. One man told me that he had seen ghosts all over the town- once even in the supermarket. And, of course, there are all those wild tales of black dogs." 

He and Harry exchanged a smile, and he patted Sirius's shaggy head. "Sirius has been adding to the rumours. There was a group of Muggle hikers who had wandered too far and got lost. A hinkypunk was about to lead them into a bog, but Sirius changed into a dog and lead them out."

They spent the rest of the day at home. An impromptu snowball fight was followed by a satisfying dinner, then a quiet evening reading by the fire, and finally to bed. They all reflected as they settled in to sleep that this had been a very good day indeed.  
~~

Sirius woke suddenly. He lay still, adjusting to the darkness. Remus slept on next to him, breathing evenly under Sirius's arm. Sirius rested his cheek in Remus's hair as he listened.

He thought he heard someone sobbing. Harry? Harry had been found crying a few times after Voldemort's death, but he had seemed fine lately. Sirius rose carefully and conjured a small light. He went out into the hall.

It wasn't Harry. Harry was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Sirius stood in the hall, listening again. He could still hear the sobbing. 

He checked downstairs. All was still. The ornaments sparkled silently on the tree. The only sound besides the sobbing was the magic snow crunching under his feet. He started back up the stairs but was met by Remus coming down.

"What is it?" asked Remus quietly. His hair was sticking up, and he was holding his wand.

"Do you hear that?"

"Yes." Remus looked around. "What do you think it is?"

Sirius raised his brows. "That the house is haunted after all?"

Remus nodded. He glanced behind himself, up the stairs. "Well, if it's a ghost, it shouldn't be a problem."

Sirius scowled. "No, but it could be bloody annoying."

Remus smiled. "Remember the ghost that was here when we moved in?"

Sirius barked a laugh. When they first entered the house, a ghost flew shrieking out of the basement, then took one look at Sirius, screamed, "It's Sirius Black!" and fled out the front door, never to return. 

"What's that noise?" asked Harry as he appeared on the landing. His hair was far messier than Remus's.

"We're not sure yet," answered Sirius.

"The woman with the pies told us that the house is evil," Harry said in a low voice, looking disquieted.

Sirius shook his head. "A place isn't evil. It's the person in the place."

"And the person in this place blew up a village," said Remus. He and Sirius exchanged a significant look.

"I'll search the house," offered Sirius.

"I'll go with you," said Harry firmly.

"It will be alright," said Sirius in an attempt to comfort him. "Ghosts can't hurt us. I'll check the basement first."

"NO!" shouted Harry, startling them. Harry pinked in embarrassment and explained, "I've seen Muggle films like this. Horrible things happen when people go in the basement alone."

"We'll all go," decided Remus.

The basement floor was littered with the refuse of Sirius's experiments- dark stains and the twisted remains of cauldrons from his early attempts at the Wolfsbane Potion, a bicycle that was sprouting gryphon wings (they were coming in quite nicely, Sirius noted), and bright fragments from his Christmas making. Along the walls stood cabinets full of potions ingredients, books and other necessities for the experimental wizard.

They were poking around when they were interrupted by a CRASH overhead. They all started, and Harry looked worried. Sirius drew his wand.

"Do Muggle films have anything to say about going back upstairs?" he asked Harry.

Harry smiled a little. "I think you're alright, as long as you have someone at your back."

Remus nodded at Sirius's glance, and Sirius went carefully up the stairs. He activated the living room's light charm, but saw nothing. However, looking into the kitchen, he saw stirrings amongst the pans hanging on the wall. He directed Remus's attention to it with a nod.

"Well?" said Sirius.

Remus raised his brows. "Well what?"

"You're the Dark Arts professor." 

"Thank you, Sirius," said Remus dryly. "Paracelsus Pompey!" he called in his sternest voice - Sirius involuntarily stepped away- "Reveal yourself now!"

The basement door slammed behind them with a BANG.

"It's no use," came a voice from somewhere. "You'll never get out of here alive, unless you leave NOW."

Sirius felt chilled all over, as though a dementor had entered the room. There was something terrifying about that voice. Something completely lost and despairing. And achingly familiar.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Remus dismissively. "You're a ghost; you can't harm the living."

"Can't I?" The voice became taunting. A pan launched itself from the kitchen, narrowly missing Remus.

"This house is mine." The terrible voice seemed to come from all around them. Another pan shot out from the kitchen and slammed against the far wall of the living room. " _I_  built it. It bends to  _my_  will. I know all its secrets, all its powers. All its needs." 

The edges of the room grew dark, as though attacking the magical light. Sirius instinctively stepped in front of Harry, or rather what he hoped was "in front of" relative to the ghost. An ornament launched itself at them, and Sirius brushed it aside with a spell.

"I demand to be alone. This is not your home. You will leave now."

"Perhaps we should- at least for now," said Remus low in Sirius's ear; but Sirius had never been one to do what he was told.

"Oh, and why should we?" he growled, putting his arm protectively around Harry's shoulders. He saw with pride that Harry looked determined rather than scared. "You're dead;  _you_  should leave- that's how it works!"

A visage appeared before them, a terribly warped visage. Paracelsus Pompey had been at the heart of the great explosion that had taken out the village. His skin was twisted, and his eyes protruded horribly. His pale hair was mostly burned off, but what was left wildly framed his unnatural face.

His mouth opened, and a howl issued forth, a howl like the wind on the moors, a howl that made one think of the cold and death and things that had no business existing on this earth.

The face disappeared. Something slammed into the ceiling above them. A wind brushed their skin. Then the other voices started, wailing all around them. The sound clawed at them like daggers striking into their souls.

"That is them," said the voice of Paracelsus Pompey. "That is those that I destroyed. Listen to them. That is what I am capable of." The wailing rose to almost an unbearable level. "That is what it sounds like to die. This is a house of death. The living don't belong here."

"Sirius-" Remus grabbed his sleeve, but Sirius had caught something in Pompey's voice. He cocked his head, as though trying to pick up the faintest of sounds.

"Surely that's not them," he said, sounding sceptical. "We met them yesterday."

He almost stepped back at a palpable blast of anger and pain. "You may mock," shrieked Pompey, "but that is the sound of them dying, and it is all my doing!"

Sirius suddenly thought he understood. "Look," he said awkwardly, "I know what it's like, having a guilty conscience..." 

"You couldn't possibly-" Pompey shouted, but Sirius held up a hand and continued over him loudly. 

"I caused the deaths of my friends!" 

There was a startled silence. Sirius forged into the sudden calm. "I did do it, I did something... and I wouldn't... I  _wouldn't_  have done it if I had known what would happen...but I trusted the wrong person and didn't..." - his eyes flickered to Remus, regarding him quietly- "didn't trust the  _right_  person, and they were dead." Sirius drew in a deep breath, looking at his feet. 

"It wasn't _really_ my fault," he admitted grudgingly to himself, "but it certainly felt like it. And I would give  _anything_... but there's nothing..." Sirius trailed off and glanced at Harry, who was watching him raptly. He took a breath and steadied himself. He finished calmly, "There's nothing to be done except to make right what you  _can_  make right."

Nothing happened for a moment. All Sirius could hear was the sound of Remus and Harry breathing next to him. 

Then there was a feeling of release, as though of a fist slowly unclenching. Bit by bit, the wind died down, full light returned to the room, and a sense of peace settled over all.

"Thank you," came to them on the edge of hearing- then the voice was gone.

Sirius was wrapped in a fierce three-way embrace. They clung to each other for a long moment. Sirius rested his chin on the top of Harry's head and looked at Remus. Their shared gaze was warm and understanding. Remus stroked Sirius's cheek with his hand.

The dawn was breaking. Red-gold light crept through the window and played about the room, sparkling on the magic snow and everlasting icicles. It was a new day. For the first time in over a century, the house would be free of its mournful spectre. Its new family would create fresh memories and leave their own magic on the house, which would be all the better for it. 

~THE END~

**Author's Note:**

> Credit note: Harry's stocking was based on a now sold out stocking from SantasStockingShoppe on etsy. Except the picture wasn't moving, of course.
> 
> The name of Paracelsus Pompey- Paracelsus is the name of a famous 16th century alchemist. I wanted the last name to do with an ancient disaster, and picked Pompeii. I thought Pompey might be a better British spelling, and googled to see if it had a history as such. And! I found a map from the 19th century showing the highest concentration of people surnamed Pompey in Britain, and the dot _was almost exactly on the location of this story_.


End file.
